


Winning Hand

by Rhysanoodle



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 22:49:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15716694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhysanoodle/pseuds/Rhysanoodle
Summary: All characters are the property of Sarah J. Maas





	Winning Hand

“Chaollll, come here,” Dorian slurred from his seat at the table, a glass of sparkling wine hanging from his hand and flashing him a roguish grin. **  
**

The party had been lavish, as all the ones Dorian was want to attend were. In the mansion of some haughty noble whose name Chaol had already forgotten, he’d watched Dorian dance the early hours of the morning away at the masquerade.

Chaol thought it was all quite distasteful. Even though it was standard protocol at these affairs, he still winced at all the illicit activities that had been happening in the curtained-off alcoves. He knew it was his night off duty, and he was here in disguise, but Clarisse and her girls had come out in full-force tonight. He was frankly quite disgusted at all the opium-induced women being forced to work like that. For gods’ sakes, the courtesans were even putting on shows and dancing on swings lowered from the ceiling.

At least Dorian hadn’t gravitated toward any of them in particular after the blonde beauty who’d ensnared him the moment he’d walked down the stairs and onto the dance floor. Chaol had seen the twinkle in Dorian’s eyes as the minx lured him in with a few smiles and a suggestive dance, and Dorian tried to inconspicuously make his way across the dance floor toward her. Everything had been going well, and perhaps the night would’ve been less tense, if a brooding, handsome male hadn’t interrupted them. Chaol had instantly been at Dorian’s side, in case the drunken altercation turned violent, but after some frustrated groans from the woman, she’d reluctantly followed her counterpart and left the party.

Chaol had retreated back to the shadows, watching Dorian pass from woman to woman, chugging drink after drink, but none of them held his interest for long.

After an hour, he dragged Chaol along to a small side room with some card tables and chaise lounges.

Dorian instantly pulled a handful of gold out of his coin purse and placed it on an open table, signaling that he wanted in. He’d tried to get Chaol to budge from his spot just inside the doorway, but Chaol wouldn’t be swayed by a frivolous card game.

Dorian lost round after round, his spending money for the night diminished as the giddy noblemen decided to make off with their profit at around four-thirty in the morning. They really should be heading back to the castle soon. The sun was almost up, and though Georgina generally turned a blind eye to Dorian’s wiles, the crown prince of Adarlan returning after the sun was up would certainly turn some unwanted heads in their direction.

And now, Dorian was eyeing him greedily and patting his…lap? 

“Come play cards with me,” Dorian whined.

Chaol had never been much of one for cards, but perhaps if he let Dorian win a few rounds, his prince would be placated and ready to retire. He took a seat across the table from Dorian, and was instantly met with Dorian’s wine glass being shoved in front of him.

“Drink,” his friend insisted. “You’ve looked so stuffy all night. You never enjoy yourself at parties with me anymore.”

“I can’t. You know I still have to be alert to guard you,” Chaol retorted.

“Oh please. Ress and Brullo are definitely hovering somewhere nearby. It’ll be fiiiiine.” An insistent hand shoved the glass even closer to Chaol, almost knocking it over and onto his suit.

“Okay, you drunk bastard. _One_ drink. Deal me in.”

Somehow one drink continued to get refilled from the bottle next to Dorian before Chaol could ever finish his glass. Dorian insisted that it still counted as only one drink, and Chaol had gotten too tired to contradict him at this point. His only hope was if Dorian tired himself out soon.

Try as he might, Chaol could not win a hand for the life of him. He’d intentionally wanted Dorian to win the first few to boost his spirits, but now he was starting to grow frustrated. Every time he would up the ante, Dorian would pull out full houses and flushes which would blow Chaol’s otherwise decent hand out of the water.

One time, as Dorian laid down a flush with a flourish placed on the two king cards on top, he winked at Chaol before haughtily saying, “I believe the wager was five sips of wine.” With nothing better, like money, to bet with at this point in the evening, Chaol had eagerly taken drinking over stripping. Cocky bastard.

Chaol couldn’t help but admit that Dorian’s charm was in full swing tonight, but he was squirming under the heated, lingering gazes his friend was subjecting him to every time he claimed that he was trying to gauge whether or not Chaol was bluffing.

After a particularly terrible hand, Chaol had thrown his cards on the floor and stormed off in a huff towards the chaise. Gods, the alcohol was really doing a number on him. His tolerance had gone to shit since he’d started attending parties in an official capacity.

Dorian just chuckled at the display and stalked over to Chaol, and before Chaol could process what was happening, Dorian had tackled Chaol onto the couch, pinning him beneath his muscular chest.

“Are you having fun tonight, my Captain?” Dorian slurred, staring Chaol intensely in the eyes.

Oh no. Chaol knew that look, had seen it countless times as Dorian chose his conquests each night.

Chaol tried half-heartedly to wriggle out from beneath Dorian, but failed miserably. Sure, Dorian was immensely attractive, but Chaol didn’t feel that way about him. He _couldn’t_ allow himself to feel that way about Dorian.

Dorian leaned in, pausing a hair’s-breadth from Chaol’s mouth, waiting for any sign that Chaol truly didn’t want him. But Chaol was stunned and quite frankly wanted nothing more in this moment — even though he shouldn’t. Their breaths mingling, Dorian scanned his face one final time before lightly brushing his lips against Chaol’s, and oh gods, they tasted so sinfully delicious that Chaol’s body reacted before he could even process the actions, leaning up off the couch to deepen the kiss.

No. Dorian was his _prince_. This was violating every oath Chaol had taken. And Dorian couldn’t possibly want an outcast from Anielle for himself. He’d end up marrying a noble lady for an alliance, and needed to have heirs and…

Dorian’s tongue ran over Chaol’s lips, and Chaol opened to him fully, their tongues clashing in a passionate frenzy as Chaol reached up, running one hand through Dorian’s hair, the other moving to the small of his back, pressing them closer together.

Shit. Even if this were a one-time engagement, if anyone found out about the two of them being together, Chaol would surely be shipped right back home to Anielle and Dorian chastised severely, and he couldn’t stand the thought of being separated from his soul brother.

But…Dorian’s hair felt like silk in his hands, and the skin at the nape of his neck was so unbelievably soft, and the scent of his cologne was singing divinely in his nostrils, urging him forward. More, more, _more_.

Dorian let out a small moan as Chaol bit down on his lower lip before launching right back into the sensuous kiss.

“Funny, I only remember you strapping two daggers to your belt this evening,” Dorian murmured as he grabbed the bulge which was embarrassingly apparent in Chaol’s pants before Chaol had a chance to react to the comment.

Mother above. He let out a small groan as Dorian teased him from outside his pants before his fingers had deftly moved to his belt buckle. Slipping his hand into the waistband of Chaol’s undergarments, Dorian began insatiably fondling his balls, causing his already erect penis to harden further, his boxers now damp.

Deepening the kiss, Dorian moved his hand up the shaft, teasing the head with his thumb and slowly beginning to stroke up and down. He pick up his rhythm, moving incessantly on Chaol until his body tensed and waves of pleasure overcame him. Dorian held him through the thrall, his hand still teasing until Chaol had fully emptied himself.

As Dorian moved to remove Chaol’s pants entirely, Chaol grabbed Dorian’s wrist, returning the sticky hand back to the couch and shaking his head. Not tonight. They were both hammered, and he needed to make sure Dorian thought this through fully.

He’d have all of Dorian or none at all, except for this small teaser, but a relationship like this would have lasting consequences for the both of them if it broke badly.

Giving Dorian one last quick peck, he awkwardly shifted out from underneath him, searching for a cloth to dry himself off with as best he could. Then, he lifted his friend off the couch, supporting Dorian’s stumbling weight with his own.

They needed to return to the castle — the sun was threatening to rise. 

He found the other guards, and the four of them ambled through the streets of Rifthold, Dorian’s arm slung over Chaol’s shoulder, singing bawdy tunes and throwing him wistful glances when the others weren’t looking.

Chaol couldn’t wait to get to his quarters to take a very cold bath before sending a messenger to meet with the owner of the estate and see if he couldn’t persuade them to part with that couch.

**Author's Note:**

> All characters are the property of Sarah J. Maas


End file.
